Ho Ho Ho, merry prankster

Because I’m now about Santa’s age, I’ve decided to live part-time in the land of Santa and sage. Christmas Valley, Oregon. I just put a down payment on a lot, sight unseen. Follow along as as adventure unfolds.

A dirt road. A Rat paradise of tin and weathered wood. A tiny shack to do art, watch stars and birds; a base to explore natural and cultural history of my home state. I’ve lived on the Wet side for decades, in many hollowed-out dead towns in the Coast Range. The cast of characters will be similar, substituting cowboys for loggers.  The meth and booze will be the same.

We all breathe, shit and dream pretty much the same, albeit sometimes in different colors.

Trees

There must be trees. Drive over, set up camp, measure the lot, mark the corners near enough and figure out where the trees go.  GoogleEarth soaring over the rest of the townsite gives me an idea of what’s already been done. No one will come undone if I plant Russian Olive, plenty of those already present. Ideas….. Honey Locust? Burr Oak? Looking at tough species that can withstand the High Desert: wind, incessant sun, alkaline soil, wild temperature variations and little water.  Just a few trees, strategically placed for filtered shade and birdscaping.

Walking around town may afford opportunity to talk to people about their trees. Can’t get over there until the fall rains put the damn forest fires out enough to make travel slightly more predictable. The Highway 58 pass will start getting snow shortly after that. Until i can get the old Swedemobile running, winter visits may not be possible. Loading the van down with all the used bricks to transport over there would be good traction on the going, but not coming back……